Where Love Finds You (The Unspoken Series) (4 page)

“And you don’t believe that can happen with any number of men in the world? Just one? And you haven’t even met this guy. How do you know for sure he is everything you think he is?”

“Honestly, that’s something I don’t know the answer to anymore. All I know is I saw this guy when I was still a girl in this world, and after all of these years, I can’t get him out of my head. It’s like his picture is glued to the back of my eyelids and every time I wake up, he’s there. Every time I go to sleep, he’s there. I’ve tried to replace his picture with someone else. Believe me, I’ve tried, but it always shows up again. It sounds romantic, but it’s starting to feel like a nightmare.”

Most of my friends were married. And most of my married friends had children. I can’t tell you how thankful I was to share an apartment with Sarah. She didn’t spend her twenties partying. She hated bars and cigarettes. Always kept the house clean and never got upset at me for leaving my shoes in random places. More than anything, though, she didn’t have a husband. That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?

I always wanted the best for my Sarah. I really did. If she got married and asked me to be the maid-of-honor I would have jumped at the honor. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the fact that one person in my life, the one closest to me, understood the empty feeling of curling up under the sheets and not having a man’s body to drape your legs over top.

Loneliness didn’t consume Sarah, though. She truly enjoyed every second of her life. We spent the next weekend cleaning our apartment together before our trip to Cape May, New Jersey. End of the summer getaway. Something I hadn’t done in years.

As she wiped down the kitchen counters on a sunny Saturday morning, she hummed a cheery melody.

“How can you always be so happy?” I said.

“If I tell you my secret, will you keep it confidential?” She tossed a paper towel in the trash can. “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”

“I think I can keep it between us.” I finished putting the last of the dishes into the white cabinets. “You’ll have to let me know what kind of sugar you use though.”

“Honestly, I have my days. My bad days probably look like your average days though. There’s no secret really. I think to myself . . . I could die any second. Right now, I could have cancer eating away my life. I could get in the car today and be gone, just like that.”

“So, thinking about death makes you live life with more joy?”

She laughed. “You could look at it that way. Thinking about death makes me want to live more. It makes me appreciate every second more. And in all of those seconds I’m given, I want to love. To give myself to others constantly.”

“Serving others? Is that what brings you joy?”

“No, my friend. It’s my joy that makes me want to serve others more. But it’s not just about that. It’s about giving something back. One day we’re all going to be dead. What kind of memory will I leave behind in the hearts of those who knew me? A black cloud or a sunny day?”

“Definitely a sunny day.” I looked at my left hand and the missing ring on that special finger. “I’m afraid I am the black cloud, huh?”

“Not at all. You are a hurricane. You’ve got wind, hail, crazy disastrous weather, but there in the center you have peace and sunshine.”

“I think I’d rather be a black cloud.”

She laughed. “You are unpredictable. Sometimes you are predictable because you want to be, other times you switch it up. I don’t know what to expect with you, only to expect the unexpected.”

“I guess I am kind of like a hurricane. What kind of man would want to marry a hurricane? You’d think two black clouds could find love together, but no one wants to run full-force into a hurricane.”

We finished cleaning the kitchen in silence. My brain sifted through memories, wondering who would show up at my funeral and what they would say. She’s right. What kind of impact would I leave? What imprint would I stamp on the history of this world?

The kitchen sparkled from top to bottom as Sarah and I walked into the living room.

“I think we’ve got everything cleaned now.” She looked around the room. “And I’ve got everything packed. What about you?”

I picked up my planner off the crisp white coffee table, opened it, scanned my checklist, then said with confidence, “Yes.”

“You want to know my first spoonful of sugar for you?”

“Huh?”

She took my planner and ripped a few pages out.

“What are you doing?” I reached for it. “Are you crazy?”

She pulled back, laughing. “I am known to be crazy.”

“Seriously, Sarah. I love that thing.”

“This thing”—another rip—”does not love you.”

Knowing I would not win, I sat on the couch. “I don’t understand what my planner has to do with anything. Why can’t everyone just let me be? Everyone is always trying to fix my life. Ripping up planners, forcing me on car trips away from the shop, none of this is going to make me find a husband.”

“Okay, rule number one. No planning. Just live, okay? I miss the old Ella.” She sat down next to me. “Rule number two. Stop relating every instance in your life to your future husband, if you even have one. For all you know, you could end up single for the rest of your life.”

I looked around at our bags. “Are you ready to go now?”

“Don’t be mad at me.” She held my hand. “I’m not trying to fix you. Trust me, that’s beyond my capabilities.” Her laugh never hid from life. Always there. Even in the most unwanted times. Like now.

“Seriously, Ella. I’m trying to love you. To get you out of this mood you have been consumed by and help you find some laughter again.”

“Okay, okay. Are you ready to go?”

We picked up our bags and walked into the hallway. She locked the door, I walked down the steps and out the front door of our apartment building. Together, we stepped outside and inhaled the scent of a humid city morning. Cars swished by, creating blurs of color and bursts of different music. The bright green leaves glistened in the morning rays.

“Do you hear that?” Sarah said as we walked to her car.

“It’s someone in that building.” I pointed to the left at the beautiful, historic hotel-looking building. Similar to the one we lived in. “I think we can see their window from our apartment. I’ve tried to look, but couldn’t see much. Whoever it is plays amazingly on the piano.”

“Wow. I love that.”

We piled our stuff into her car and hopped aboard the Nissan Altima. She turned up the music. I pressed the button and watched my window disappear into the car door. I could still hear the piano as we drove off.

Sarah never asked, but I knew she was thinking it.

Lydia came over Saturday morning. I opened my apartment door to see her emerald eyes staring into mine. She smiled, that weak smile that wanted more from me than I could give. I tried to smile back, took her hand, and pulled her into the apartment. She took my other hand, squeezed, and closed her eyes. 

“Play me a song.” She walked into the dining room. 

I followed. Watched her hips move with her graceful walk. Her strawberry-blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders and climbing down her back. She placed her hand on the keys, turned her face just so. Bands of sunlight sparkled in her eyes from the open window in front of her. In the secrecy of my mind I touched her cheek and pushed the hair out of her face, behind her ear, like I did so many times before.

She looked down, waiting for me to play something. 

“Are you sure?” I said and took a step closer to the piano.

She nodded and stepped aside. I took my place and set my fingers on top of the keys. I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and began to play. Minutes traced the silence of our relationship, drawing a picture of unanswered questions. My song echoed the unknown. The very thing she didn’t want to hear.

As I played the last note she sighed. “I guess I have my answer.”

I took her hand in mine and looked up at her closed eyes. I hated that I made her cry. 

“I love you,” I said.

“I don’t see your love, Matthew.” The only person who still called me Matthew after knowing me for years. 

“It’s just not the right time.”

“I can’t wait anymore. I can, but I’m not willing. I want a family, a husband who loves me. I’m tired of waiting for you to figure out with your mind what your heart already knows.”

“I just need to figure things out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” She readjusted the bag on her arm and walked into the living room.

I trailed behind her, watching her hair glow, wanting to hold her again. 

“There’s nothing to think about,” she said. “If you don’t know that I’m the one you want to be with for the rest of your life at this point, then how will you ever know? It’s not like we just met. I know everything about you, Matthew. You know everything about me. If you don’t know by now, you will never know.” She opened the door. Her eyes, that soft glow still there, like I had never hurt her at all. 

How could she still love me? 

“Do you hear me?” One foot outside of my apartment, the other inside.

I didn’t want to hear her.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” Both feet outside of my apartment. “This is all I can take. I love you.” One tear landed on my bare foot. “I will always love you.”

And with one last touch of my arm, she left.

Stamped in my memory. The first time Lydia walked into my life. Her long, wild hair curved around her face and clung to her cheeks. My brother sat on the couch waiting for her. I sat in the dining room working on a college Psych paper. She looked in my direction and sat next to Andrew. His face beamed, so did mine.

She held his hand. “Andrew, how are you today?” 

No response. Only a smile as big as Pennsylvania.

“I brought some puzzles.” She pulled out a few toys and a puzzle. 

He rocked back and forth, smile stretching to Ohio. 

She looked at me again. I looked away, pretending to type on my laptop. Fingers flying a mile a minute, typing nothing and looking at her smile every chance I could. I watched her talk with my brother, one of the only other people besides myself who could make him smile like that. A bright joy in her presence hugged anyone who came within ten feet of her. My brother loved her immediately. I couldn’t blame him.

She took him down to the basement to play and Mom wasted no time. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

I nodded.

“Nice, too.”

I nodded.

“She smiled at you.”

My grin walked its way to Indiana. 

“And you’re still smiling.”

I closed my laptop and looked at the light coming from the basement, then ripped a sheet of paper out of my spiral notebook and scribbled a note. I looked around the room, then saw her purse on the couch. Very trusting of her. I slipped the note into her bag and went to my room. A few minutes later she came up from the basement.

“Thank you for sharing your son with me, Mrs. Ryan. He is wonderful.”

“Which one?” Mom laughed.

I wish I could’ve seen her face. “I will be back next Wednesday.”

“That sounds great, Lydia. You have a safe drive home now.”

The door closed. I hurried to the window in my room. She opened her car door, sat down, and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. She must’ve reached for her keys and saw the note, because she stopped to read something. I backed away from the curtain and peeked through a small slit. She looked toward our house and gave a thumbs up. 

She couldn’t have seen me. Could she?

I played some music and waited the rest of the night for her to call.